


A Home on the Ocean Wave

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-22
Updated: 2005-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duck could stay here forever, with Buddy and his pick-up truck, and the waves crashing onto Wilby's shore outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Home on the Ocean Wave

**Author's Note:**

> Written for zillah

 

 

Duck is naked in the backseat of Buddy French's pick-up truck, his knees squeaking against the vinyl and he grips the door as Buddy fucks him from behind. Buddy smells like the football field, and his hands are rough and strong on Duck's hips. Every thrust sends Duck bucking forward, his gasps fogging the windshield, and he can feel his cock throb and ache almost painfully against his stomach. Buddy pulls Duck back hard, shoving him onto his cock, then he draws his hips back and does it again. Duck doesn't know how he's going to sit on those hard wooden chairs at school tomorrow.

They've been doing this for a while now, and Duck fumbles a hand down between his legs, squeezing his cock, jerking himself off. One of Buddy's hands lets go of his hip and moves slickly up his sweaty back. One thrust, two, and Duck feels Buddy shudder and come. Duck bites his bottom lip and follows quickly, letting out a hard, shivering gasp.

For a moment, there's nothing but their mingled panting and the sounds of the water crashing on the shore outside. Duck chuckles, looks back over his shoulder where Buddy is avoiding his gaze as he slowly pulls his cock out. "Fuck. You should have more fights with your girlfriend."

Buddy looks up at that, smiles. It makes him look even more handsome, and Duck feels his heart give a little two-step. He turns over and flops onto his back, his head leaning awkwardly against the door. Buddy looks at him.

"We didn't break up or anything. Me and Shelly, I mean," Buddy says.

Duck reaches down and grabs his jeans, pulls them on and takes his cigarettes out of his pocket. "I figured, you guys always make-up eventually."

"Yeah," Buddy says, a bit morosely. He gestures with his chin before pulling on his own pants. "You gonna give me one of those?" He leans in and Duck puts a lit cigarette between Buddy's lips. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." They smoke for a moment, sitting on opposite sides of the backseat, with their legs somewhat tangled together in the middle. It's a clear night and Buddy's backlit by shimmering moonlight. Duck blows out a waft of smoke, watches it float up to the ceiling. "I'm thinking of leaving, after graduation."

Buddy's brow furrows. "What, like, Wilby?"

"Yeah," Duck says. "To New York maybe, or ... fuck, maybe even farther than that. London. Paris."

Buddy smokes thoughtfully, glancing over Duck's shoulder at the water. Duck can imagine what Buddy's thinking, guys like Buddy - they never think beyond Wilby.

"That's far," Buddy finally says.

Duck smiles. "That's the point." He shifts slightly and the seats creak, a seatbelt is digging into the small of his back. "Don't you ever want to leave, Buddy? See what's out there?"

"My family's here. My friends," Buddy says. "I mean, what's out there that I couldn't get here?"

"That's just it, I don't even know because I've never seen it. This town's so fucking small." Duck shakes his head and gestures. "You bring anything to drink?"

"Hm? Oh yeah. Sure, Duck." Buddy shifts slightly, stretching to reach under the front seat, and Duck smokes and eyes the muscles as they flex on Buddy's stomach. Buddy comes back with a bottle of Jack, and he takes a drink before passing it to Duck. "Knock yourself out."

Duck grins and toasts Buddy before taking a sip from the bottle, damp already from Buddy's mouth. He shuts his eyes and leans back against the seat again. He won't lie to himself, he'll fucking miss this. He'll miss a lot of things about Wilby.

A hand moves up Duck's leg, rubbing absently at his calf, and Duck opens his eyes and smiles softly at Buddy as he rubs and strokes. "I'll miss you, Buddy," he says. He takes another drink from the bottle before he passes it back, takes a drag from his cigarette and flicks ash to the truck floor.

Buddy looks up, raises an eyebrow, his hand still moving. "Dumb jock like me? Nah ..." he grins.

Duck chuckles and moves his legs away, turns around so he's lying back against Buddy's chest, between his legs. Buddy's arms wrap around him and Duck feels Buddy's lips on his neck. When they started this, Duck never expected Buddy to be the one who would get attached. But Duck's not stupid, and he recognizes the touches, the looks, the way Buddy's arms tighten a little around him when he moves.

But Buddy's as straight as a guy who fucks other guys can be. Buddy says he's only ever fucked Duck anyway. And Duck isn't positive, but he's pretty sure that Buddy thinks it's only gay if you're the one taking it.

"Us artsy fags tend to like dumb jocks," Duck says, and he tilts his head up to kiss Buddy's jaw in a no-hard-feelings kind of way. Buddy's chest shudders a bit with low chuckles. "I won't go for a while. It'll be hard to tell the folks, too."

Buddy's hand brushes Duck's hair off his forehead. "Am I the first person you've told?"

"I guess so, yeah." Duck feels something brush his shoulder, and he takes the bottle back, tosses his cigarette out the window at his feet. He rests the bottle on his stomach and eyes it over the arm Buddy has draped across his shoulders. "I've been thinking about it for a while though."

"What'll you do, once you get to ... Paris, or London ... wherever?" Buddy asks. His hand moves down Duck's stomach and he smoothes his thumb over Duck's exposed hip.

"There are a couple of art schools I want to apply to," Duck murmurs, his eyes half-shut, "maybe I'll even try acting in some plays or something."

Duck can't see him, but he hears the grin in Buddy's voice when he says: "Duck McDonald: Broadway star. Or would it be `Walter'?"

"Walt," Duck says. "Like Disney. You know, start off associated with success."

Buddy squeezes Duck's hip again. "You'll be great. Your name in lights and everything."

Duck laughs. "Yeah. Right." He put his hand over Buddy's. "And what about you? You gonna be mayor and clean up this two-bit town?"

"I could do that. But only if I get to be corrupt. Do I get to be corrupt?"

"I thought that went without saying."

Buddy kisses the top of Duck's head, and Duck feels the dampness through his hair. "Awesome." He shifts under Duck, and the arm around him hoists Duck a little further up so his ass is pressed against the bulge of Buddy's jeans. "For real though ... I think I might try out for the sheriff's office. You know, law enforcement."

Duck thinks about that for a moment, then nods. "Yeah. You'd make a good cop, Buddy." And he would. Buddy was honest, smart, and hard-working. Basically one of those all-around good guys that Duck always kind of resented because they always seemed to have everything going for them.

There's a rustling of fabric as Buddy pulls Duck's jeans down again, letting them bunch by his thighs. Duck lifts up so Buddy can undo his own pants and pull out his cock, hard and ready again.

But Duck has known Buddy for his whole life, and he knows Buddy's more than good looks and touchdowns and Prom King and student body president. Duck can't bring himself to think about those things too long though, not when he's leaving, not when staying wouldn't make a difference anyway.

Buddy's hands claps around Duck's hips, and he shifts Duck up slowly, carefully, pressing his cock inside him once more. Duck's loose and relaxed, his body accepting Buddy with a soft, enraptured sigh. Duck shivers, his eyes shut as his head falls back against Buddy's shoulder.

"Fuck, I fucking love ... this," Buddy murmurs, his lips against Duck's jaw as he pulls him down the rest of the way, Duck's back flush against his chest.

"Yeah," Duck pushes his ass firmly back against Buddy's lap, "me too."

They rock together slowly and steadily, mouths meeting between ragged breaths. Duck could stay here forever, with Buddy and his pick-up truck, and the waves crashing onto Wilby's shore outside. Right then, Wilby seems like the centre of the entire Universe and Duck can't imagine anywhere else he'd rather be.

 

 

 


End file.
